Ara inch beses?
Ara ara! I parked my BMW on PCH last Saturday in the 'boo and some asshole sideswiped my car while I was in the ocean. Hit and run, straight up. My baby.
Since that cute little lizard fucker convinced me to get geico - save some money - I was paying for it myself. When have I transgressed, oh Lord? Not a big deal, not a big deal. Lord?
Silence from the heavens, comme d'habitude...but honestly, I wasn't even that upset, I had just spent two hours in the ocean, feelin salty, and the world had the volume turned down a little bit - as the ocean is wont to turn it. Besides, I've got a few bills now, I don't need no lizard.
I drove through the canyon still wet, afraid to dry myself, and got some looks from the sushi mengs at Woodland Hills WhoFo...he was a Japanese FOB, he saw the salt crystals on my face and licked his lips like he was bout to cut me up and feed 9 pieces Persian sashimi to the salmon.
Then I went to Encino like a little bitch, to see what Baba had to say. He gave me the always-pay-for-full-coverage lecture - which I tuned out and thought about sex - followed by the address of an Armenian chop shop in Glendale: ask for Hovek Sarkissian. Hovek inch beses? Mama kewn kewnam!
I ditched work after lunch on Thursday - really, I only went for lunch, there's bomb-ass attorney lunch on Thursdays, this week was Thai - and took the 110 to Glendale so Hovek could hook it up. I get off at San Fernando Road...fuck, I forgot the address! Not a big deal, right? How many chop shops could there possibly be on this one little road in Glendale?
A: A grip! Glendale is chop shop city; any middle-eastern guy who's not Jewish would know that! I stopped in one, Verizon bodyshop. Hovek? No. You know Hovek? I think so.
So I drove to the next one, Horizon bodyshop.
But Horizon bodyshop, it seems, was no bodyshop at all. I was only there for two minutes. I stepped in the "office" and saw a placard: "Know your rights! Employees have a right to:
- Minimum wage compensation
- A safe work environment
- Restroom facilities
and so on. To the right of the placard was a curtain and a hum. I pulled the curtain aside and saw at least fifty pairs of Armenian womens' puppydog eyes look up from sewing machines to stare at me in unison. What are they sewing? Damn that one to the left is blazin...
"Hov-," I started...naw I'm fucking around. I left immediately, I was scared, plus I could tell I was making them nervous. At least somebody was being productive at work...they weren't even on facebook! Did they think I was a cop? Did they want me to be a cop? Why doesn't the cute one just marry Hovek, have some babies?
On my way back to my car I saw the break room. Black-haired women with meaty forearms smoked, chatted, and ate leftovers. Damn, Armenian-themed attorney lunch...that would be dooope.